Damien's body burned with exertion, muscles straining as he pushed himself through another set of exercises.
His shirt lay discarded on the grass beside him, soaked with sweat, while his breath came in controlled but heavy gasps.
Two weeks.
Two weeks of relentless training, forcing his body to adapt, to shed the frailty that once defined it.
His scrawny figure had grown lean and taut, muscles no longer just skin and bone.
It was slow progress — but it was progress.
He exhaled sharply, dropping into another set of push-ups.
The dirt beneath his palms felt cool, a contrast to the heat rolling off his body. His endurance had increased.
His arms no longer trembled after just a few sets.
The physical training wasn't the only thing that had changed him.
In the evenings, when his body was too sore to move, he spent his time buried in books, studying.
The Nightshade household had a library — one of the few things it actually provided him.
He had expected a few dusty tomes filled with useless noble politics, but to his surprise, it had something far more valuable.
Knowledge.
And the more he read, the more he realized how little the novel had truly described about this world.
The Kingdom of Velrath was vast, with dozens of powerful noble families ruling over different regions. The Nightshades controlled Veridell, a city known for its role in trade and commerce.
Their influence ensured that goods flowed smoothly through the kingdom, making them indispensable despite their lack of overwhelming magical power.
But their importance was nothing compared to Arcadia.
The Arcadia Wizard Academy — the greatest center of magical learning in the kingdom. It wasn't just a school. It was the forge that shaped the next generation of mages.
To graduate from Arcadia meant securing a future among the elite. To fail meant obscurity at best —disgrace at worst.
For someone like Damien, it was his only real path forward.
But that was still a long way off.
Right now, he had one goal.
To grow stronger.
And for that, he needed to kill.
───
As the sun began to set, Damien wiped sweat from his brow and pulled his shirt back on. His body ached, but it was a familiar ache — one he had learned to embrace.
He grabbed his shortsword from where it rested against a nearby tree.
Forged from steel, well-maintained but nothing exceptional. It wasn't enchanted, nor was it made from any rare materials.
But it was good enough.
Sheathing the blade, he took a deep breath and started moving.
The forest stretched before him, dense and untamed.
He didn't dare wander too deep — he wasn't suicidal — but he went far enough to leave behind the safety of the outer edges.
His steps were steady, controlled. He had learned to move quietly, keeping his presence as low as possible.
The last thing he needed was to alert a Mana Beast before he was ready.
His eyes scanned the undergrowth.
Mana Beasts weren't just random monsters. They were living creatures, shaped by the mana they absorbed over time. The weak ones remained small and solitary. The stronger ones? They formed packs.
And right now, he needed something small.
Something manageable.
A rustling sound made him pause.
His grip tightened on the hilt of his sword as his eyes locked onto a shape moving in the bushes.
Then, from the shadows, it emerged.
A Duskrun Wolf.
Sleek black fur, lean frame, sharp eyes locked onto him with predatory focus.
Not large. Not a pack animal.
Perfect.
The beast tensed.
Then, in a flash of movement, it lunged.
Damien sidestepped, the wolf's claws swiping through empty air.
The moment it landed, it whirled around, snarling.
This wasn't just a mindless creature. It was fast, intelligent.
'Good.'
He wanted a challenge.
The wolf lunged again — this time, Damien moved toward it.
His sword lashed out in a controlled arc, slashing deep across its side.
A yelp. Blood splattered onto the ground.
But the wolf didn't go down.
Its body twisted unnaturally, and for a brief moment, its wounds pulsed.
Then, Damien felt it.
A faint, almost imperceptible ripple of mana.
His eyes narrowed.
It's trying to regenerate.
Instinct took over. He couldn't give it time to heal.
Before the beast could recover, he surged forward.
His blade struck true, piercing the wolf's throat.
The creature let out a final, choked snarl — then collapsed.
Damien exhaled, stepping back.
The forest fell silent once more.
Slowly, he crouched beside the body.
And just as he expected, something began to change.
A faint glow pulsed beneath the wolf's chest — then, emerging from its flesh, a Mana Core.
Damien picked it up, rolling it between his fingers.
Mana Cores were the lifeblood of mages. They could be absorbed, traded, or used in crafting. Even a core this small held value.
Damien studied it for a moment before slipping it into his pocket.
'I'll experiment with it later,'
#####
The halls of the Nightshade estate were eerily silent. Damien strode through them, his footsteps muffled by the expensive carpets that ran the length of the corridors.
It was late — late enough that the servants had retired for the evening, leaving the estate in a state of hushed stillness.
He didn't like being around them.
Most of the Nightshade household barely acknowledged his existence, and those who did only offered cold stares or whispered words of disdain when they thought he wasn't listening.
It didn't matter.
Right now, his mind was focused on something far more important.
Tucked within his pocket, he felt the faint pulse of mana from the orb he had retrieved earlier — the Mana Core from the Duskrun Wolf.
He had spent years reading fantasy novels in his past life.
In those stories, cores like these were often just currency or ingredients for alchemy. But here? Mana Cores were different.
They were power itself.
With a quiet exhale, he entered the one place in this household where no one would bother him — the library.
───
The room was vast, lined with towering bookshelves that stretched nearly to the ceiling. Ornate chandeliers cast a dim, golden glow over rows of neatly arranged tomes.
This place had become his sanctuary.
A place where he could think, plan, and — most importantly — learn.
With a flick of his wrist, Damien tossed the Mana Core onto the wooden table before him. It landed with a soft clink, its faint glow casting subtle shadows against the polished surface.
Then, with nothing more than a thought, he summoned his grimoire.
A ripple of mana stirred the air, and in the next instant, the Fatebreaker Grimoire materialized in his hands.
Leather-bound, ancient, its cover inscribed with intricate symbols that seemed to shift ever so slightly when he focused on them.
Damien ran his fingers along its surface, feeling the faint hum of power that always accompanied it.
Unlike a normal spellbook, this grimoire was alive in a way — reacting to him, adapting to his will.
He placed it on the table and willed it open.
The pages flipped on their own, settling on a section filled with dense arcane script. Words burned with a soft glow, shifting as if the book itself was whispering secrets only he could hear.
His gaze fell upon the first heading:
"The Nature of Mana Cores and Their Consumption."
He leaned in, eyes scanning the page.